Haunted
by Tragically Humorous
Summary: Summery: Set before the events of Episode VII, Kylo Ren awakens from an old nightmare and consults his grandfather's mask. "Am I always to be haunted by their ghosts?"


Summery: Set before the events of Episode VII, Kylo Ren awakens from an old nightmare and consults his grandfather's mask. "Am I always to be haunted by their ghosts?"

* * *

He awoke with a gasp.

Sweat coated his body under the standard issue blanket. He stayed perfectly still for several heartbeats and stared unblinking into the darkness that seemed to suffocate him while he willed away the remnants of the nightmare.

When the fear had abated slightly, he kicked away the covering almost frantically in a desperate attempt to not feel so confined by the warmth. A half-formed thought made him suddenly grateful he only slept in a pair of loose pants.

With a thought and a flick of his wrist, he used the Force to turn on the fluorescent as he sat up. The brightness immediately changed the landscape of his mind. The images lost their harshness and faded from the vivid replay, but the feeling of terror didn't leave completely.

He stood on shaky legs and cursed his weakness. His self-hatred flared to the surface as easily as igniting his light saber.

He yanked his fingers through his tangled hair as he crossed his chambers to his meditation chair. He had long ago placed it in front of the damaged mask of his grandfather, which he used as a focal point to keep his thoughts from wandering.

He sat down roughly with his head in his hands, his elbows braced against his knees. The only sound in the room was his labored breathing. The chill of the floor against his bare feet was a welcome discomfort.

"Grandfather," his voice broke as he dropped his hands and sat with shoulders hunched to look into the empty eye sockets of Darth Vader, "I had the same dream again."

He took a deep breath and attempted to center his thoughts. "It never changes. I see myself through the eyes of the padawans as I strike them down."

A swing of red.

A flash of terror.

A moment of vivid clarity as his mask came into focus before the edges of the image faded into eternal black and another sequence flared to life. He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat.

He ran a hand roughly over his face as his mind unwillingly reproduced the images. "I followed your example," he told the mask, "the Jedi Order was flawed and had to be cut down at the root."

His throat felt raw from screams that weren't his.

The memory of observing broken bodies strewn about haphazardly as rain poured down, soaking him to the bone.

A drop of sweat trickled down his temple.

"The Jedi would have flourished across the galaxy once more, guised in their false righteousness as guardians of peace while they fed the machine of war."

He gazed thoughtfully at the mask. The sweat from his terror began to dry in the cool air causing a chill to sweep down his back.

"I had to do it. I had to do what I knew what was right within my heart," his gaze turned determined as he built up his defense for his actions once more, "you knew of their corruption. You fulfilled the prophecy spoken of you. You brought balance to the Force."

He reached out a hand and gingerly traced his fingers over the ruined and twisted metal. "After your culling, there were only two Sith, and two Jedi."

The chill swept over him again. He withdrew his hand and closed his eyes, focusing on the power that thrummed inside his veins. The constant swirl of Darkness brought him comfort, but the pinprick of Light was ever presently casting shadows of doubt.

"You merely showed the galaxy the truth. The Light is deceitful. True power comes from the Dark Side, not by hiding behind an archaic religion that teaches to suppress basic nature."

The false memories that had imprinted on him flashed once more across the backs of his eyelids.

Again, and again he experienced death by his own hands from perspective from people he once knew. From some that he had once called friend. However, the pain of experiencing their deaths was nothing compared to he emptiness tore at him as each memory faded into darkness.

He opened his eyes in desperation.

"Grandfather," he whispered beseechingly as he fell on his knees before his shrine, "am I always to be haunted by their ghosts?"

The broken mask replied in silence that echoed deafeningly in the empty room.

Kylo Ren had his answer. Before the mask of his legendary grandfather, as his countless insidious deeds weighed on his shoulders, he wept.

* * *

Author's Note: So I've been lurking in Star Wars fanfiction since I saw Episode VII and reviewing all the stories I read to encourage others. I've dabbled in The Clone Wars (the show) and I love the universe. I've been sitting on this for days tweaking and I just need to let it go. I'm shamelessly in love with Kylo. Utter trash for the emotionally damaged. I hope you enjoyed this.

Reviews are love and life to authors.

-Tragically Humorous


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